Sitting on the edge of the bed, I pat the space beside me for Kent as I drink some more of my tea. It’s only lukewarm now, but it’s still soothing on my raw throat.
Kent sits beside me, knotting and unknotting his hands. “I won’t blame you if you walk away, Presley. It’s what you should do.”
I press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m not walking away, Kent.” I scowl at my cell as it vibrates again. “But only if you promise to get help, to get clean, and you follow through. If you don’t, Iwillleave you.”
“I promise,” he says, peering deep into my eyes. “I can’t lose you over this because then it’s something else that’s been taken from me.”
A thousand tiny pinpricks stab me through the heart, decimating the organ in my chest. I snatch my cell up, answering Ford’s call, because it’s clear they won’t stop calling until I pick up. “This had better be good.”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but we thought you’d want to know.”
Alarm bells ring in my ears, and all the tiny hairs lift on the back of my neck as an ominous sense of dread washes over me. “What is it?”
“Mikey was in here a short while ago looking for you. It’s Chris. He says he’s at the drug house and he’s not in good shape.”
“Fuck.” I close my eyes. I do not need this today, but at least it gives us a viable reason for leaving early. “I’ll call Clay, and we’ll leave immediately.”
I haven’t heard from Clay in weeks, which is strange since he usually calls at least every couple weeks even when away on business. If I reach him, he’s unlikely to help anyway. He is probably still in New York, and I can’t see him going out of his way to come back to help Chris. They fell out years ago, and they don’t have any contact except through me.
It’s not like this is the first time I’ve had to drag Chris’s ass out of the drug house, but it’s a cesspit for hardcore junkies, and I can’t just ignore the intel. The last time Chris overdosed was in that place.
Ford hangs up, and I explain the situation to Kent. He stands, shaking his shoulders out, the tension easing a bit from his face. “I’ll make excuses with my family while you pack our shit. Then we’ll hit the road.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Kent
We are quiet as Presley drives us back to Boston. She insisted on driving, and I didn’t raise any argument. She pointed out she was largely sober yesterday and I was trashed before ripping into me. I let her vent, accepting everything she threw at me. She is right to be pissed, and I didn’t even attempt to defend myself. I hate I broke my promise to her, and I hate I’ve disappointed her, so I didn’t argue, willingly handing her the car keys. I won’t deliberately do anything to jeopardize her safety or try to justify my actions when there is nothing I can say that excuses my behavior.
Pressing my head to the side of the window, I close my eyes, trying to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. My chest tightens with a fresh wave of pain as I remember how close I came to strangling the woman I love. Tears stab the backs of my eyes, and I couldn’t hate myself any more than I do. That Presley hasn’t dumped my weak ass is a fucking miracle. I have never been worthy of her, and it has never been so obviously true.
“Goddamn it.” Presley sighs, and I open my eyes and straighten up.
“What’s wrong?” Besides the obvious—like your boyfriend is a worthless piece of shit and your worthless piece-of-shit ex is now encroaching on your headspace too.
“I can’t get a hold of Clay. I’ve called him several times, and I must’ve left at least ten messages.”
“We’re only an hour out now anyway,” I remind her. “And I’m sure he’ll call you back when he can.” She hasn’t spoken much to me about her foster brother except to say he saved her from a nightmare situation as a child and he protected her growing up. I got the sense they were close, but that doesn’t really seem to be the case. In all the time we have been together, she hasn’t talked with him or met him in person. Not for the first time, I wonder if Presley has a romantic rosy memory of the past that isn’t quite true. Not that I’m criticizing or faulting her for wanting to cling to happy memories, but I know how easy it is to hide the truth behind lies. Especially to yourself.
“He probably wouldn’t help anyway.” Her heavy exhale is laced with resignation.
“Why don’t they get along anymore?” I ask, wanting to talk about anything so I don’t remember what a shitty, pathetic excuse of a man I am.
“I don’t really know. Both of them clammed up anytime I broached the subject, so I let it go. But it happened after I lost Tillie, and I think Clay blames Chris.”
If he’s as protective as Presley says he is, that makes sense. I rub at the throbbing pain in my head, wishing I had painkillers. I only had two, and I gave those to Presley before we left because she deserved them more than me.
“How bad is this likely to be?” I ask, imagining the type of drug house Chris visits being completely different from the ones I’ve visited in the past.
She takes her eyes off the road for a second, eyeballing me. “Bad.” She worries her lower lip between her teeth. “The last time he OD’d, it was here.”
Fuck.I sit up straighter, determined to get my shit together so I can support my woman. “Should we call nine-one-one?” I’m wondering why she didn’t do that already.
She shakes her head. “They won’t go there unless someone is there to meet them. The place is a big, old disused hospital, set across several interconnected buildings, and it’s not easy to find someone who doesn’t want to be found.”
Nausea churns in my gut as I ponder what lies in store. I know it’s not going to be pretty. Maybe seeing this will be another wake-up call. I meant what I said to Presley earlier. Iamgoing to seek help because I can’t lose her, and I know if I don’t fix myself she will leave me, and then I have nothing left to live for.
***
